


Deus ao mar o perigo e o abismo deu, Mas nele é que espelhou o céu.

by temis



Category: Men's Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Cultural Differences, Different species, Fluff, Little Mermaid Elements, M/M, Merman Lionel, Misunderstandings, Slow To Update
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:49:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26073688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/temis/pseuds/temis
Summary: Cris loved the ocean - it was the sound of waves and the scent of sea that had been his lullaby for years in Madeira, present even while inland, and never far. Even when he had gone to mainland Portugal to study, leaving his birthplace, he hadn’t left the sea (or perhaps the sea hadn’t left him?): the university at Porto was in rocky ground, near the waves and their ceaseless movement.
Relationships: Lionel Messi/Cristiano Ronaldo
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28





	1. Jolly Sailor Bold

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Thirev](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thirev/gifts).



> I needed something more cheerful than the fics I was doing, so I asked for a prompt and Thirev gave me mermaid AU, hope you like this first chapter!
> 
> The name of this fic is a part of Fernando Pessoa's poem called "The Portuguese sea". It means: God gave the sea danger and abyss, but in it he reflected the sky/heaven.

Cris loved the ocean - it was the sound of waves and the scent of sea that had been his lullaby for years in Madeira, present even while inland, and never far. Even when he had gone to mainland Portugal to study, leaving his birthplace, he hadn’t left the sea (or perhaps the sea hadn’t left him?): the university at Porto was in rocky ground, near the waves and their ceaseless movement. 

His mother had told him that one day he would be tired of the ocean' song and have to settle in land, have a family and marry, like everyone else. He had never contradicted her, but he knew that he could not live far from the ocean, something seemed to be amiss everytime he went too far inland, a restlessness, a need to go back.    
Because of that, he never had a doubt about what he would do - not when he was obsessed with anything and everything that lived in the sea, when his first biology teacher had kiddingly said he should prepare to be a marine biologist if he liked the ocean so much. 

That had never been far from his mind since then - while academics were never his strength, he studied harder than ever, learned everything he could so that when the time came, he could apply for an university scholarship and be accepted. And in the time between he had learned to work in the sea, in the small boats of fishers, in the tourist boats that looked for dolphins and whales and as a diving teacher, preparing himself for when he would dive as part of his research about conservation of marine life in Madeira.

Going to university had been an achievement, the first one of their family to do so. It had also been a way to find himself, experiment and see if a life dedicated to the ocean was really what he wanted, the last stepping stone before jumping into the unknown.

And he discovered that the sea was a balm to his soul - didn’t matter why he was sad, angry or confused, being near the waves calmed him in a way nothing else did, but that it wasn’t home - not like the ocean in Madeira. In some ways, how he talked, walked and looked, all of that set him apart from most other students,even with his gregarious nature. He did make some friends - with international students from Brazil and abroad, who didn’t mind how he spoke or that he wasn’t like other Portuguese. It had been a shock to understand that his world until he was eighteen was completely unlike what his colleagues had lived in, and to most of them, unimportant. At least with the international students, he expected that gap in experience.

It didn’t really matter in the end. He had Marcelo and Kaká, and later Fábio with him, and when he wasn’t with them studying, he still had the sea. Finishing his Master’s course took time and more willpower than anything else he had ever done. Some days, he could feel his mind slipping through the words of articles and thesis, and only the possibility of talking with his mother while looking at the waves crashing down soothed him enough to keep trying.

All six years of work had paid off at least - now he was back home to stay, with a grant to monitor the pollution and how it affected the marine ecosystem of the archipelago, if the population of mollusks there differed from the species found in the Canaries isles and whether the amount of fishing done in Madeira had negatively affected its fish production, if compared with the reserve of the “ilhas Selvagens”.

He sailed from home to check on the floats, traps and conditions every week, using the rest of time to analyze the data he had already collected and to write reports and articles as the terms of his grant requested. 

That wasn’t his favorite part, but it was important, helping him keep track of differences and look for patterns in the rise or decrease of populations, possible variables responsible for changes and behavioral shifts in the established marine life community. 

On that Sunday, he planned only a quick check on the Ilhas Selvagens reserve - there had been rumors of poachers and the reserve rangers were apprehensive, there were endogenous species that could be found only there, and so were 'exotic', meaning they could fetch a high price in the black market of wild animals and fishes. Because of that, he should verify and collect his traps, to not facilitate the work of traffickers. 

The weather was relatively cloudy - he had woken up early, as even though he didn't plan to spend more than two hours in the island itself, the journey there was lengthy enough that he needed to be careful, to not be caught out in the sea at night - he had to arrive in the reserve in the morning, to have a chance of being home before the sun set - or sleep in the reserve itself.

Quickly doing his work, after briefly talking with Pepe, leader of the rangers, he was still on track for going back in time, but the weather seemed to be unpredictable - it had lightly rained on his journey, the ocean agitated and murky, reflecting the clouds of the sky and leaving him shivering. And yet, the sun shined bright at Ilhas Selvagens, as if mocking his earlier experience at sea.

"Cristiano, are you sure you don't want to stay? We have extra beds ready - you don't have to go today. Stay here for the night and tomorrow be on your way - you have done what you had to do, but you need to take care of yourself too" Casemiro, his ranger guide for the day, had offered, after they finished checking all the equipment .

"Tomorrow is my niece's birthday - I would rather go back and be with her and my family. Besides, there isn't any indication of a tempest or anything like it, is there?" Cristiano asked the ranger, while taking care of the anchor keeping his boat in place in the pier.

"If there was a storm coming, I wouldn't be trying to convince you, I would just prohibit you from going."

"I know my friend. I promise, if I think the drizzle is getting heavier, into proper rain, I will turn back and sleep here"

"I can't talk you into staying, can I? Then I wish you luck and good winds. Be aware Pepe is going to call to make sure you arrived safely" Casemiro commented, making Cristiano roll his eyes..

"Honestly, he is just as much a mother hen as my mãe. He worries too much."

"We see more than once what happens with boats and people who are overconfident at sea, Cristiano. I don't want to find you starving in one of the micro islands between here and Funchal. Or find your corpse bloated and pecked from seabirds, or worse, not find you at all." the ranger's tone was dark, and his eyes faraway, as if seeing through him. 

Cristiano reached out, squeezing his shoulder while replying: "I know. I'm sorry Casemiro, I promise I will be careful. After all, I need to be alive to be present in Bruna's party tomorrow, or later if necessary. I won't risk my life recklessly".

"Safe travels, Cristiano" Casemiro said, before turning back, standing at the pier, watching his boat getting smaller and smaller with every minute.


	2. Danger is near thee, beware, beware,  beware, beware

It is moments like this one Cristiano realizes his mother is right - he is far too confident for his own good. Though in this case, it's not completely his fault. The storm had hit with little warning, suddenly cloudy weather turned tempestuous and chilly. The little time he had, he used to safely stash his cellphone and the boat's radio in a water-resistant plastic bag along with water and some cereal bar **s,** making sure the bag was secure, so his means of communication and survival were safe, put his coat and life jacket on and prayed the crashing waves wouldn't turn his small boat into the deep sea. 

The rain beat a rhythm in his skin, chilling his body and making everything harder to see - he didn't know anymore where he was, or even where land was. He couldn't turn back or even keep on in this state. So he just hung on the sides and hoped the raging storm didn't kill him. 

After an indefinite amount of time, his boat crashed on something, and he feared he would have to abandon it and chance trying to survive swimming in the sea until he found something to help him float, or die amidst the wreckage. Instead, to his relief, his boat stopped, as if anchored. It had crashed into a small rocky island, one of the many uninhabited stretches of land that were strewn among the sea between Ilhas Selvagens and Madeira. In his situation, any solid ground was better than the sea, so he took the radio and what he could quickly get from his supplies and carefully disembarked. 

He couldn't see much in front of him, even with a lantern, but slowly he made progress. The islet was composed only of three rocks and a small cave, partially flooded from what he could see - with some luck there was a part of it that was above ground and would give him a place to rest and dry himself. 

He noted that there weren't any birds - nests or otherwise - and decided to be cautious. The island wasn't big enough to sustain endemic life, but it should have been used as a rest point by the many species of birds that migrated around the archipelago of Madeira. 

Cristiano made sure to latch on the rock of the cave with his hands as he walked, so that if a strong wave crashed into the cave, the waist deep water wouldn't drag him deeper than he wanted to go and kept his lantern turned on. 

While the water didn't go deeper, the cave seemed to have other openings as it also didn't get drier. His consolation was that at least it wasn't raining inside. Away from the immediate danger, he could feel his body shivering, both from the adrenaline crash and his wet clothes. After a five minutes walk, he found a chamber where the water pooled in the middle, while the sides were stone outcroppings, flat, dry, and long enough for him to sit. However, some of the space was already occupied. 

There were circles near the border, filled with things - on one side, rusted phones and cell phones, wallets and toys of many differing shapes, sizes and colors, most of them showing signs of damage, as if they had been submerged. On the right, there were glasses, both the drinking and seeing types, along with frame pictures - some with the photos still inside, intact, others with the material blurred and the images faded. In the center of the cave, there was a football, gloves, rags as if they had once been clothes (but thank God, no corpse), small bits and pieces of plasticized paper and all manner of bits and odds, as if whoever collected them wasn't sure of what they were.

This... was bizarre. The organization of the cave pointed to someone else being there - an animal would have just built a nest or used the fabrics for a den, for warmth and a dry place. But, there were no other signs of habitation by people or beasts - no mark in the walls or floor, waste or fur or voices in the cave. 

Shaking his head, he pulled himself over the edge, to dry ground and turned off his lantern to conserve its battery. Shivering, he sat down on the ground, after making sure that it was free of anything that could hurt him, as far from the edge and the water as he could get while trying to not lean into the hard rock of the wall, curling into himself to conserve heat. 

It would be an uncomfortable night - the only things he had with him were his cellphone and radio which weren't working in the middle of the biggest tempest he had seen since becoming a marine biologist, emergency rations and a canteen of water - enough to survive off until Casemiro or Pepe could track him down. They would know he had been at sea and that he was caught when he didn't answer, but not his location to start searching. Hopefully, after the storm blew off he could get a signal and help them find his location.

His tiredness, the wind blowing from the ocean and the spray of waves were a lullaby, his aching muscles asking for rest. He was afraid of how clouded his mind was, the fog and confusion. 

That didn't stop his eyes from closing, his head resting into the cave wall, his heartbeat slowing down.

He wavers between consciousness and slumber, Morpheus's sand thick in his eyelashes and his fear of dying there, just slipping unconscious as his body temperature fell, high enough to override it for small periods of time. For three times, when he wakes up the storm is still raging outside - on the fourth, the wind is whipping, but the waves are calmer, and he sips at his canteen.

His eyes had gotten used to the darkness of the cave, so when something slithers through the water he watches in puzzlement - the only being he could think of fitting in such shallow water from the ocean with that shape and mass were seals, but their colony was located in the Ilhas Desertas wildlife sanctuary, far closer to Madeira than Ilhas Selvagens. The only reason one of them would be here was if they had gotten lost - but it would be a sign he was much closer to home than he had thought.

Then, when the shape of it came closer, with the little light he had, he realized it was too big to be a seal. For a moment, he thought the hypothermia had affected him so much he was hallucinating. The torso and arms were human, however when the figure used their hands to help propel them in the water, they were webbed, a fine membrane between what would be it's (human-like) fingers, similar to an otter, and it ended tipped with claws (or maybe sharp nails?); the lower part of its body was a tail - he couldn't correctly see its colors, dark as it was, but it seemed to extend for at least one meter away from its body, as he could see the tips as it flickered in the water. 

The mermaid (or perhaps merfolk?) seemed to be male... At least if they had the same secondary sexual characteristics of humans - if they were instead like fish, the question of gender was much more complicated, and here he was thinking of that as he watched what was a myth swim up to the only place he had. Would it see him? If the species was a deep dwelling one, it made sense it would rely less on eyesight and more in other senses - hearing, taste, echolocation, magnetoreception and electroreception where the possibilities he had right of the top of his head that occurred in fishes and a mermaid could have - whether it was affected or even adapted to air differently than it was for water, he didn't know.

Cristiano stayed as still as he could in his place, smoothing over his breathing, barely blinking. It was probably a delusion, but if it wasn't, he didn't know how it would react to a stranger in its space, as he suddenly understood the merfolk was collecting human objects - the position of things on the borders - probably indicating it couldn't easily go over the ledge to higher ground (or it simply didn't see a reason to do so) while he deposited what it had found in the ocean. Did it understand what they were and what they did? Why was it doing it? It obviously seemed able to think to identify objects and what they resembled. 

Honestly it felt weird to call it an it, but he also didn't think mermaid fit - the image of a woman singing men to death, of blood and suffering and pain in the old stories (he remembered his mother's sea-tales, of the ocean that gave and took, of its inhabitants and the punishment for transgressions), while the being he saw was none of these things. Perhaps merfolk? Even if it was more a title for a species, better than anything else he thought.

As they came closer to the center, some meters from where he was on the left, he could see their face: pale skin, somewhat hooked nose, gills on its neck and fins where a human would have ears. The translucent skin there was the same blue-silver shade of the top scales of a yellowfin tuna, their arms had markings on it, darker than their skin and now he could see a transparent plastic satchel crossing their chest. He was lucky the merfolk had focused all their attention in the football, instantly going for its resting place and playing with it for a time, using their arms, head and even tail to keep it up in the air, until they bounced the ball near the wall where he was, and in his surprise he gasped, trying to press himself into the stone wall and far from the ball (and the merfolk).

Immediately, they turned to him, and he could see their features more clearly: black eyes, membrane over it, pale skin with a streak of scales covering their shoulders and the outer side of its arms. They seemed to be surprised, staring at him, maybe wondering about his presence in their cave?

Not wanting to surprise them even more or have them attack him, he positioned his hands so they could see they were empty and spoke a soft "hello".

To his relief, they only tilted their heads and made... many sounds, music-like, their voice had a beautiful low bass to it, soft and comforting, but no word he could understand, but then again maybe their vocal ranges were completely different or the air affected their voice, while in water he would hear a different sound.

He didn't know how much his body language would be understood, if at all, so he let his confusion show before shaking his head. The fins on their head lowered a bit, and their next words were in a different language? Harsher than the first one with its liquid-slippery quality. He could hear consonant sounds and small vowels together, less flowing and fluid, and perhaps some spaces that marked the end of words, but it was still as unknown to him as the last language the merfolk tried.

"I'm sorry, I really can't understand you..." Feeling bad, Cristiano tried, besides his own language, English, and when the merfolk showed no recognition, the little of Spanish he knew. None of them worked, but Cristiano learned disappointment looked similar in merfolk body language, their ear fins dropped even more, and the feeling was identifiable in their face.

Hoping he was not going to cause a mythical diplomatic incident, Cristiano introduced himself.

"My name is Cristiano. What's yours?" he tried to make his meaning clear by using his hands to indicate himself when saying his own name, and when asking their name he made gestures pointing to them, hoping they would guess what he meant.

It seemed to work, as they looked at him and repeated his name - except they had more than a bit difficulty saying the "t" in it, pausing and trying some times before looking frustrated.

"Call me Cris" He used the same hand motions - and this time his name was intelligible in the merfolk's tongue, though it still had a rolling, liquid-like accent to it.

They copied his gestures, pointing to themselves, and said a string of words - their name (names?), but he could only identify fragment of syllables he knew - their name seemed to begin with an L or what sounded an L, but the rest was difficult to reproduce, and like the merfolk before, he stumbled in his pronunciation. They shortened it, like he had done, but there were still some sounds he wasn't sure he could actually speak with his human throat. After the second or third time he tried to imitate the way the merfolk said it, they realized it too. His tail flaring behind him and head cocked, the color of his face took a pinkish tint, before he spoke again, much slower than before.

This time, it was easier to identify the sounds, (not all were the same as in Portuguese), but he could replicate as best as he could with what he had, forming the name Lionel as he was finished.

"Lionel?" He asked to be sure, and they confirmed it by smiling, and releasing a clear sound, maybe an yes in their language? 

They both went silent, as they didn't know how to keep talking, making conversation with each other without a language in common.


	3. Other side

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lion'ls POV - continuation of last chapter

They both stayed quiet, as they didn't know how to keep talking. Lionel's head fins dropped again, obviously sad about it, until he had an idea: throwing the ball to the human in his cave.

Cristiano took the ball and asked;

"Do you want to play? Well I guess it's something to pass the time... And maybe it will help me keep my body temperature up" He knew Lionel wouldn't understand what he was saying, but it felt rude to not answer somehow, besides smiling and moving.

After that, he stood up, going to the middle of the cove, making sure he didn't step or dislodge any of Lionel's collection, starting to do 'keep ups" and showing some tricks he could do - like every boy he had once dreamed of being a football player before the ocean had taken all his interest.

Lionel was enthralled, his fins directed to Cris, his tail swishing behind him, watching the human play with the spherical thing he had found two tides ago. It was strange to consider he himself could not do some of the moves the human did, plus the fact he in no moment used his hands to touch it, only his lower appendages - it would be the same as if he only played with his tail, something he thought would be difficult to do.

"Lionel! Sua vez!" The human said the shortened version of his name, after the trouble he had with making himself understood, he had given up on his sea-names, letting the human use his inner-song so he could more easily be understood (it didn't feel wrong as it should, if the human, Cris - had been one of the ocean people, didn't feel like disrespect or an intimacy uncalled for, felt good in fact). He wondered how old the human was, whether he was unproven by his people's ways, so as to have such a small name that could easily be shortened. He didn't seen young, at least not by surface dwellers standards, but then again he didn't have that much knowledge about them, for all that he was more open and collected what ended close to the gates between worlds.

Cris threw the ball to him, so he could play too. He could do less with his tail, his precision was not nearly the same as the human had with his own appendages but enough to at least try and throw it back to him. Cris used his head to receive the ball, showing that it could be used too. but kept his hands far from it... So it was lower appendages and head then, oh, no, he used his chest too.

From what he could see, Cris was male, one of the two genders humans had, according to Geri, but he didn't know what characterized one as such for their race (no color on his arms, a lack of fins and tail of course, but he had never realized how he depended on such to understand his fellows!), and the human obviously wasn't going to just show him. He still thought it was strange to be so limited and not able to change if family, tradition or ritual asked for it, but then again there were some of the People who never dealt well when they went from one current to another. 

Lionel didn't know how long they played like that, passing the ball between them, and Cristiano taught him a little through motions and gestures the names of what he had in the cove. "Ball" was easy, as was "glass". "Picture", for the images of humans in a flimsy surface, was nearly impossible, the letter after the sound of crashing strange in his mouth. Cris also showed him some of what he had in the spaces of his bag, a kind of food that didn't smell good to him, but that the human ate with pleasure, after having offered him a piece and a container for water (so strange, why not drink from the sea?)

It was strange still to look at him - his skin was similar to the color of the metal rocks that were sometimes found in the floor and shaped as tools in the heat vents of his city, much different than any skin color he had seen as even the humans seemed to tend to a skin color closer to the ones he knows from Cere, while Cris' resembles the tail-hues from some of his cousins that prefer the ocean floor. He wonders if the taste of his skin is different. Cris smells like a hint of ocean/home/fur under the metallic/acrid smell that his siblings say is characteristic of every human.

It makes him wonder what other differences are there. He is lucky to be a Prince - especially if anyone finds what he has done - showing themselves to humans is strictly forbidden, at least without making sure the human is not going to tell others about them. He doesn't want to kill Cris, nor does he want to seal him inside the gate, until he has taken over a sea people's form.... Cris basic shape is pleasing, from the little he could glean, what with the material covering him. His square face and jaw remind him of some of the sharks - and he wonders if the grey/sharp/white would be his tail-hue, contrasting nicely with his skin-color. He would be highly sought after, both as an exotic mate as well as an ex-human. Few were taken to the gate, it was just easier to enchant and make sure they did not have a chance to breathe again, much harder to make sure they survived the trip to Cere. 

Only if one of their own people had been in love or owed an outstanding debt to a human would something like that happen, and even if both people ad human were willing, sometimes it would still end in tragedy, the change and the sea too hard on a body used to air and land, was what Geri said when he had asked. Humans were not made for the sea, same as People were not for land.

Oh, there were sea-tales about People going to land, making bad deals with tricksters or dark mages, changing their flowing tails for human appendages. Few of such stories ended well (though they existed): even if a dark mage was compassionate and started the transformation only close to the surface - not all were so accommodating; even if there were no other hidden clauses beyond a steep price, they were made for the sea and the land rejected them, or humans did. 

The few happy endings were entrenched in his mind though - Ariel and Eric; Mali and Sonia; Neni and Rogan. He had always been fascinated by their stories, by the idea of being in contact with a human, talking to them, understanding them and what they created, how their society worked. He was lucky his family tolerated his curiosity and even took the time to collect interesting things to give to him in the case of his siblings. 

It was a shame the last human born people had died two generations ago from his own, leaving him to wonder about their society, inventions and customs. What little they preserved was registered in the Lore-keeper's memories, and Puyol memory-singer, wave-storyteller, tide-stealer, did not have the time to repeat the tale again and again for him whenever he wished, having his duties, acolytes and meetings to attend, all taking priority over a princeling's wishes to know more about the land beings.

Cris had stopped playing with the ball, instead returning it to its place of honor in the center of the cave, his low, hoarse voice vibrating the air, warbling words he could not understand. Instead, he watched as the human laid down in the cave, somewhat far from the water, resting his head in the rock and curling in himself, similar to how a coral dweller nested to rest. 

Watching as the human rested, Lionel wondered why Cris was so calm - as far as he remembered, humans could not swim indefinitely (not made for the sea), and would die easily if left adrift. There was nothing near the islet beyond what he had judged to be Cris' human transport. Perhaps he could contact other humans? He remembered something like that from the tales of Nanalia Human-born Coral-seeker, but he did not know how it could be so (always the tales left behind details, things he wanted to know so much...).

Either way, now he had a choice to make. Kill Cris, drag him to Cere, praying for his survival (and forgiveness) or let him go back to humanity and fervently hope he had not condemned his kind out of curiosity.


	4. Decisions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things of note:
> 
> Ocean people do not have t/d as sounds, so I just took off these letters. they also do not have the same morals or worries that humans have, which plays a part in this chapter
> 
> WARNING (I'm probably being overly cautious, but...) for non-consensual usage of compulsion magic (I don't know how I would tag that in fic..)
> 
> SPOILERS:
> 
> Leo uses his magic so Cristiano can't talk about him or any ocean people in general, and puts a tracking spell in him too.

Fates help him, even the idea of thinking of killing Cris made his colors change. It was not something he wanted to do. Drag the human with him to Cere? It would be the best solution for the People, and perhaps to him if Cris was a forgiving sort, but he remembered some of the warnings about taking humans to Cere - seeing the human-born waste away, not for lack of care from their would be mates, but because they did not want to be People, did not belong to the sea. In some cases they adamantly refused it even if they survived, and sometimes they made sure to kill the one who had dragged them under the waves and away from their own kin and home. Lenice human-born rage-bearer, marauder-killer had been one of them, and her lament was still popular, her pain from being torn from family and home and her place fresh in most People's mind, her song known far and wide, even beyond Cere, reducing the number of People who would ever think of taking without asking - but how to ask when the person you want to talk with can not understand you? Impossible. 

He submerged for a time, taking care to think. He wanted to see Cris again, wanted to talk with him, wanted him to be of the People, because he was curious - about humans in general and about him in particular. He had liked his smile, his grace and elegance on land, wondering how that would translate in the sea, in a tail - had even speculated on what he would look like. Right now it wasn't possible, but maybe, someday he could properly ask. But he had to have a safety net, a way to ensure Cris would not hunt him down or tell other humans about him, or at least warn him if the human did, so that Cere would be prepared, its gates moved or hidden from invaders. 

That was when he remembered some of Ronalinho's magics - misdirection, and maybe tracking would be enough to safeguard their existence, if he constructed the spell in such a way Cris got confused if he tried to speak about their encounter entirely... It would have to affect his brain - the impulse to speak and then his vocal box - complicated magic, but he did not see a better way in preserving Cris life while guarding his home. Luckily, he had a knack for mind magic, though he was normally undoing the effects of mismanaged magic, or in the worst cases, compulsions. The tracking would allow him to find Cris again, if he regularly crossed the sea, even if he was not under the waves - would give him some peace of mind as to where the human was, even if he could not know what he was doing. 

From the bottom of the cave, he could feel the vibrations of his own fins, his tail mindless moving. His own solution was not as bad as the initial three, but still not ideal, and yet... He could do this, Lionel cerulean-holder mage-weaver-singer - his only chance to have what he wanted and to keep to his duties as he ought to. and he did not mean to waste the chance luck and sea had given him - to know Cris more, to know more of humanity.

Concentrating, he weaved the magic into being, singing his spell into the water, his intention into the air, the notes ringing distorted, and wrong - but at least half of it had to be done out of the sea, and he was surprised when there was far less resistance than he expected from the elements as he invoked them. Cris' rest meant it was easier than normal to anchor the foreign influence into his mind and body, creating layers of it to connect the physical consequence (not being able to talk specifically about him) with the mental trigger (thinking/remembering his presence). Exhaustion settled in his body after he was finished, projecting and testing both the trigger and the spell. It seemed to work as intended. Good. 

The tracking was fairly simple when compared with the intricate web of light regulating action-reaction he could see floating around Cris head, to his sight looking as if he was caged - it hurt to see what he had wrought, his only consolation that he could also dismantle it easily, that he had been oh so careful when laying it, so it wouldn't cause pain or negatively affect Cris beyond its main purpose.

Whereas the web had taken half a tide to construct and use, the tracking was as simple as anchoring it in Cris blood. It took less than a tenth of a tide for it to take a hold. For some reason, it was so easy. He had not thought it would be so simple, his body not rejecting the sea-based magic (not rejecting him). It gave him hope that his plan could work.

After his usage of magic, he rested for a third before going his own way. His family was tolerant (some advisors said too much) about his wanderings, and this was not the longest stretch, but given what happened, it would be best to not attract undue attention until he was ready to speak to his family - he would not hide what he had done, for their safety, but he wanted the chance to explain and prove his point - hopefully, after he had established a link with Cris and was able to ask and talk.

Turning, he swam away from his cave, going back to the open sea, avoiding the remains of Cris' ship and diving, deeper, deeper and deeper, until the moonlight was not visible anymore and even farther, before stopping. He could not see anything, but he didn't need to, just had to follow the way home, the way every People of Cere knew.

It took him a tide to get to a gate. Like all others, it was hidden, cave inside cave inside a crack in the ocean floor **,** visible only with mage-sight. He passed through, steeling himself. He could feel the difference in the water. Lighter, easier to breathe, cleaner. He was home again.


	5. Inland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Took longer than I thought, and I changed the plot a few times, but here it is!

When Cristiano woke up, he was sore and tired. His head was aching, as was his neck from being curled in hard rock. But the cave was empty. Had he dreamed about the merman (Lionel - Leo)? The cave was the same as he remembered it: human artefacts and clothes in the small piles. Dream or not, he had other things to worry about now, such as hoping Ilha Selvagem or a passing boat could receive the transmissions from his own radio and pick him up, otherwise he would be in trouble.

So, it was with a relief he found his radio in working condition, walking to the mouth of the cave, turning it on and calling his position - and got an answer in maybe an hour: Ilha selvagem heard him, and the rangers would triangulate his position. he tried to describe the islet as well as he could, warning about the ruins of his boat. Ships going and coming from Ilha Selvagem and Ilhas Canárias were also warned, increasing the chances someone would find him, hopefully before his rations dried up - desert as the strip of earth was, he doubted he could survive too long in it, even if he could drink some of the rainwater left from yesterday's tempest. 

He didn't need to. In less than two hours he could see a boat in the horizon, and with the radio transmitting, he got a ride back to Madeira, being rescued quickly and efficiently by the tourist ship - finding known faces in the crew. In less than a couple of hours, he was back home, being pampered and **scolded** by his family in turns, as if he was still a child, his siblings and mother relieved by his safe return, but frightened by how close it could have been a tragedy. He endured with good humour their worries and warnings. He loved them and understood where they were coming from. But he could no more stop going to the sea than he could stop breathing. At least, he had come back soon enough his niece could still celebrate her birthday, as he wasn't hurt enough to warrant a stay in the hospital. 

While enjoying the food and good cheer, doubled from having him back and Bruna's party, he feels... Relieved, yes, but also adrift. His memories confused and muddled - was Leo ever there? Or was it a hallucination brought on by hypothermia? Stupid, but he would have liked to see the merman again. He was... a bit envious of the ability to live in the sea, but then again... looking around himself, he couldn't think of leaving his family either. And yet, here he was, sitting apart from the noise and warmth of the party, just looking in.

His mother sat on his left, sighing. She seemed older, wearier as if his disappearance had added ten years, making his eyes water. If he could he would never bring so much stress upon her. His father's addiction and the need to raise the four of them had aged her far too prematurely already.

"Son, what truly happened when you were lost on the sea? There is something... Out of place with you. As if someone had tried to catch you in a net, and partially succeeded." Her brown-black eyes were fixed on him, hands on his arms. He had kept quiet, hadn't said anything about Lionel to anyone else, not the crew that rescued him, not to the doctors at the hospital, nor his siblings there at the party. But with his mother? The words come out of his mouth like a torrent. He explains the storm, the cave he found himself, how everything was laid and organized - until he tries to describe Leo, the shadow he saw in the water, and finds that he can't. His lips don't move, and he makes no sound, no matter how hard he tries.

His mother's eyes never abandon his, and she notices when he pauses suddenly, unable to keep going.

"Ah, I see. You were caught in a net, but one made of sound, not of fur or metal. The people of the sea fear the land, and with more reason than most. I am surprised one of them let you go - most would have killed you. Or dragged you down to the sea to become one of them, instead of only trying to prevent you from speaking like this. You probably left quite an impression, or the one you met was an exile or really lax with their security. " Her voice was calm and monotone as she spoke, but for a moment, he thought her eyes had flashed deepest black, like the ocean at night.

Everything on Madeira smells like the sea, as the shore is never too far from sight or nose, but when his mother touched his face, lightly inspecting his throat, he felt as if he was drowning, the sea salt so close to his nose, he can almost feel the spray on his face, his breath coming in rapid and short bursts. 

"Shh, just a little more, I am almost finished." And then, with a last pulling sensation, he is free to breathe again. And at once he feels the difference. Because his words come sure and true, his voice working. And he tells his mother about the merman he found (though apparently, she knows more about them than he did - sea tales now echoing stronger and truer in his memory). But he described Lionel's appearance, how pale he was, the way he moved in the water. Elegant and flowing, one with the element he lived in. Beautiful. How they had played with the ball, and he had taught Lionel as many words from the objects inside the cave as he could until he was too tired to keep himself awake.

"Did he have any scar or mark upon his face? In what condition were his fins?" His mother asked him, taking advantage of his momentary silence. 

"No, I don't remember seeing a scar on his face, or if he had one, it must have been small. His fins were normal? Or at least what I would consider normal for a fish, they didn't seem ragged or injured, if that's what you are asking." 

"So, not an exile from one of the ocean's deep kingdoms. Good. The sea people have much different laws and beliefs - but exile is considered worse than death for them, and an exiled person would have been considered a criminal by laws of land or sea. It seems, my son, that you have attracted the curiosity of one of the sea-people, and probably his desire to take you as his mate. Though you don't seem repulsed by that idea, you should still be careful - by all rights, he should have killed you when you stumbled upon his retreat."

Cristiano blushes, turning his head away. No, he wasn't. Well, he was afraid of being killed now, he didn't want to be one more corpse in the sea, didn't want to leave his family at all. But he was also curious. There was the scientist in him, wondering how exactly a sea person reproduced, and then there was the very much human being that would love to have the practical experience to answer that question. It helped a lot that in no moment during his encounter in the cave he had felt threatened by Lionel, just intrigued. 

His mother laughed at his reaction, drawing his face back up.

"Now son, none of that. Sea people are normally enchanting to any of the land, so I don't blame you, filhote. But you should take precautions. I am not going to allow you to be dragged to the deep, not if you have no way of coming back to land."

"I wouldn't let him take me either, not if I could help it, mom. I love the sea, but not enough to want to never step on land again." 

"Good. I need you to stay away from the ocean for a week. Enough time for me to get everything I need. And then, you will not need to fear the waves. I may also be able to give you the gift of their language if I can find everything..." she looked into the sky as if already making lists of what she would need, her eyes going black again. In a flash, Cristiano remembered Lionel's eyes, pupilless, only black, and how his mother's resembled them when they started talking.

"Mãe, were you one of the sea people?" Cristiano asked, not knowing what to expect, and not understanding how she could know so much from beings mentioned only in tales and legends.

Dolores laughed, her caramel-brown eyes (the same eyes he had inherited) warm as her hand cupping his face.

"The deep kingdoms, far, far down the sea, warmed by the fire from the centre of earth were never my home. I learned about the people of the sea with my mother, and the power of the waves from my grandmother." Well, that's interesting. His mother rarely said anything about her family and what they were like - and he can understand it - he doubted most would deal well with the idea of a "bruxa", someone who knew magic, true magic. Before he could think more about it, his mother brought his attention back to the matter at hand.

"It has been years since I saw any type of song-incantation being used. As I said, most humans who encounter one of them do not survive. Stay inland, work on your reports, if needed lie to not go anywhere neat the ocean. Your sea-person may not have the intention to kill or take you with him to the deeps of the sea, but I will not risk that possibility." Her eyes flashed again, darker and deeper, and she seemed bigger, more powerful for less than a second. Then she settled back on herself, being 'only' Maria Dolores dos Santos Aveiro again. 

"Now, enough of this dark talk, you should go, be with other young people and leave your mother. Go! " She pushed him away from her, back to the main room, music and laughter echoing in the night. He did as he was told, passing the time with his siblings, reassuring his niece and close friends that he was alright. 

There was never enough time to rest and think - his head was still spinning when he finally went to bed, trying to process what he had learned today.

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr if anyone wants to talk about anything :
> 
> [Tumblr](https://tocadoguara.tumblr.com/)


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